Raghubir’s brown eyes went wide, but he quickly relaxed. He later said he figured it was a joke. Lots of movies are made in Toronto, and, for some reason, an enormous number of science-fiction TV series, including over the years such fare as Gene Roddenberry’s Earth: Final Conflict, Ray Bradbury Theater, and the revived Twilight Zone. He assumed this was some guy in costume or an animatronic prop. “What kind of paleontologist?” he said, deadpan, going along with the bit.

The alien’s spherical torso bobbed once. “A pleasant one, I suppose.”

On the video, you can see old Raghubir trying without complete success to suppress a grin. “I mean, do you want an invertebrate or a vertebrate?”

“Are not all your paleontologists humans?” asked the alien. He had a strange way of talking, but I’ll get to that. “Would they not therefore all be vertebrates?”

I swear to God, this is all on tape.

“Of course, they’re all human,” said Raghubir. A small crowd of visitors had gathered, and although the camera didn’t show it, apparently a number of people were looking down onto the Rotunda’s polished marble floor from the indoor balconies one level up. “But some specialize in vertebrate fossils and some in invertebrates.”

“Oh,” said the alien. “An artificial distinction, it seems to me. Either will do.”

Raghubir lifted a telephone handset and dialed my extension. Over in the Curatorial Centre, hidden behind the appalling new Inco Limited Gallery of Earth Sciences — the quintessential expression of Christine’s vision for the ROM — I picked up my phone. “Jericho,” I said.

“Dr. Jericho,” said Raghubir’s voice, with its distinctive accent, “there’s somebody here to see you.”

Now, getting to see a paleontologist isn’t like getting to see the CEO of a Fortune 500; sure, we’d rather you made an appointment, but we are civil servants — we work for the taxpayers. Still: “Who is it?”